


Coming Home

by hyperius



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth Will Fix The Batfamily, Batfamily (DCU) Fluff, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Catherine Todd Stuff, Dick Grayson is a Ray of Sunshine, Fix-It, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Jason Todd Gets A Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Protective Dick Grayson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:07:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25906330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperius/pseuds/hyperius
Summary: Jason Todd ached, body and soul, and he wanted nothing more than to fall apart. Fortunately, Dick found him in time and brought him home. Now, it's up to Bruce to convince him to stay.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 17
Kudos: 250





	Coming Home

The mission has gone mostly successful. _Successful, because the goal of the mission was achieved_. _Mostly, because Jason really did a number on himself._ Well, not on himself, technically. It’s not like he purposefully got struck by a bullet. Or the knife. Of the crowbar. Or the - well, yeah. He knows Dick would blame him, though. He’d tell Jason that he shouldn’t have been out there in the first place, being as emotionally compromised as he was. That the beating was a consequence of his own mental distractions and overwhelming stupidity. He’d say Jason just should have stayed in for the night. Like a hypocrite.

But if Jason stayed in, he would have been trapped with the _distractions_ : the memories, the traumas, the echoing sound of Joker’s laughter, explosions, and Catherine’s soft voice singing her favorite lullaby.

Jason thinks that one - the memory of his mother - may actually be the most painful. He can hardly remember her face, sometimes, but he still remembers the way she used to sing to him. The way her voice started to deteriorate as she used more and more drugs - how she slowly forgot the words, and then his name. Then she was dead. He wasn’t sure why Catherine’s memory decided to haunt him this night, or why her voice began to mix with Joker’s, but it was too much for him to handle. Too much.

He needed to beat someone up. He also got beat up, though. Not that he’s complaining, the pain is grounding. The pain reminds him that he’s here, alive, and Joker lost. _Joker won, but he lost._ It reminds Jason that there’s different pains he can focus on, he can focus on his bullet holes, and knife wounds, and sprained muscles, and aching bruises. He can focus away from his mind and on his body instead. So, so maybe the beatings weren’t really too bad a thing.

Slowing to a stop, Jason had to catch his breath. He really did ache. He was sore, skin to soul. He hurt, and he wanted nothing more than to cry, to sob, to fall apart. Goodness, he really did just want to fall completely apart, he wanted his skin to detach from his soul, he wanted his heart to take a break - to let him breath. He wishes he could. He can’t. He knows he can’t.

“Oh, Hood! Hi!” Jason jerked back, looking up to the man-boy calling for him, blue brightly standing out against the black kevlar, “What’re you doing here?”

Jason scowled beneath his broken helmet, “Finished a mission, what’s it to ya’?”

“Nothing! Nothing. It’s just not your territory, not that you can’t not be in your territory! I - we, the whole family loves it when you come out and we can see you! It’s just not always expected and, um. You ok? You look beat up.”

Jason rolled his eyes. Honestly, they’re always walking on eggshells round him… and maybe they should be. Time and time again, Jason proved he has a short fuse, proved he was triggered over the littlest thing. Alfred calls it trauma. Alfred says he needs help, therapy, someone he could talk to and cry to. Jason thinks he needs a pretty little pistol and a few dozen (rubber) bullets. Alfred didn’t look amused.

“So what?”

“Can I patch you up?”

“Don’t need it.”

“You’re bleeding! A lot!”

“Fuck off, Dickhead. I’ve been dealing with shit on my own ever since-“ since he died. Before then, even. He let out a long breath, “Leave me alone.”

Dick frowned, pouted, bit his bottom lip and shook his head, “No. I don’t know what’s up, Jay, but you’re acting more reckless than usual. You don’t get beat up this bad unless _something_ happens. And, you’ve been bleeding out, but you’ve just just standing there doing nothing. Like you didn’t care. You need help, and as your older brother, I am going to help.” His tone left no room for Jason to argue. His tone said Jason didn’t have a choice.

Jason scowled. He wanted nothing more than to punch him. He did try, actually, but Dick easily deflected. Jason was weak, slow, sluggish. He wanted to scream. Dick used Jason’s momentum from his punch to guide him close and into a tight hug.

Dick’s voice was soft when he spoke next, “I know you’ve been doing a lot by yourself, but you don’t have to anymore. You have your family. You have me. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere,” his arms tightened around Jason. He can’t see Jason hurt himself any longer. He can’t watch Jason drive himself into the ground. He can’t watch as Jason strays further and further away, he can’t watch Jason fall. Not again, never again, “I’m not letting you go again, Little Wing. Never.”

The older brother pretended not to hear Jason’s sniffle. He pretended not to feel the cool, salty teardrops against his shoulder, and he pretended not to feel the way Jason desperately clung to him, holding him tight as he let himself fall apart.

* * *

Jason would say it was some weird persuasion magic that got him to willingly go back to the cave. Or maybe some weird older brother magic? Whatever it was, he blamed Dick.

“I can’t believe I’m here.”

Dick flicked his nose, gently, “Don’t say that. You need proper stitches and the Med bay is the best place to do it,” Dick cleaned the wound, ignoring Jason’s wince at the sting, “This’ll pinch.”

“It won’t pinch, dick bag, it’s gonna fuckin’ hurt,” But that’s fine. Jason’s had worse.

By the time Dick was finishing the final stitch, the Batmobile made it’s ever dramatic entrance, Batman himself exited the driver’s side to stare up at the med bay. At Jason. Jason shifted, and felt Dick slap his leg as he commanded him to hold still. _I finished the stitches, not anything else_. Jason payed no mind to Dick, though. His attention was on Bruce.

“Jason.”

“Old man.”

Bruce took a few steps closer, removing his cowl as he did, “I didn’t expect to see you here. Are you alright?” The only reason Jason would ever come to the cave would be for a medical emergency, but looking his son over revealed, admittedly, far too many wounds for Bruce’s liking, but nothing life threatening.

“Fine. Dickie dragged me here.”

“Oh,” good. He’s glad Dick is taking care of his little brother, “Well, since you’re here, why not stay for dinner? Alfred’s making lasagna.”

“Um, no. I got stuff.”

“Stuff?”

“Yeah… stuff,” like his regularly scheduled self-loathing, an hour of regret for crying in front of Dick and allowing the man to see him vulnerable which will only make Dick all the more clingy. Then he’d try to get a few hours of attempted sleep, but only end up with a few hours of nightmares, and maybe even a mental breakdown because fuck today. Truly, a full schedule. Ha, he loved his horrid coping mechanisms.

But, humor aside, he doesn’t want to stay. He doesn’t know if he can handle being in the manor, around his so called family - not when the past is already plaguing him. Not when he can’t handle any more reminders of what could have been, not with his mother’s voice in his ear. He doesn’t want his few good memories f the manner to be tainted with Joker’s laughter, or Catherine’s song.

Bruce stared at him, and Jason was hoping that was that, but he had to step up, he had to come close, he had to - had to rest his hand, gently, on Jason’s shoulder, “Jay,” his voice was strained, almost, as if he was trying not to get angry, “Please?”

“Uh,” what?

“I’ve… been in therapy,” it shocked Jason, really. Bruce, who always denies his emotions; who always denies his sorrow and anger and - “Alfred,” Oh, that explains it. Alfred got to him. It must have been quite hard for Alfred to do, frankly, and probably took some heavy blackmail, “And… and I’ve been missing you. I didn’t know how to say it but, well,” he let out a frustrated sound, “I still can’t, I don’t think. But I wrote it. I wrote it down with my therapist,” he opened a pocket on his utility belt, pulling out a little letter, “I had it in case I saw you on patrol,” he handed the letter to Jason, “You don’t have to do anything, but I’d really like for you to join us tonight. We all would.”

Bruce left, after that, and both Jason and Dick watched him leave. Dick softly smiled, “Therapy’s been good for him. Took a while, but he’s finally started to do what the therapist recommends to him. He’s been a lot more open, emotionally,” Dick shrugs, “It’s been good. A lot of things have been fixed,” Dick gives Jason’s knee a squeeze, “He wants to fix his relationship to you, too.”

Jason nodded, hesitated, then Opened the letter. He took a deep breath. It seems like Alfred has been a crusade to get all the little Bat’s to therapy. To help them with their pain. To make them heal and - and confront their traumas. Jason doesn’t know if he’s ready for that yet. Shaking his head, Jason pushed the thoughts from his mind. Reading the letter doesn’t mean he’s staring therapy. It doesn’t even mean he has to come back tonight. He can still leave. So with those assurances in mind, he began reading. He was prepared for Bruce to write about what a disappointment he was, how he wished the boy who died was the one who came back to life. He was prepared for Bruce to try and ‘fix’ their relationship in a similar manner to how he’s done in the past: with backhanded compliments and insults. With brutal honesty that sent Jason spiraling in emerald anger and rage. Into pain. But the letter… he didn’t realize how wrong he was. He didn’t realize how much Bruce cared, regretted, loved, loves - he - he-

Dick looked up, and he didn’t even realize he started to cry until Dick wiped a tear from his face, “Jay? Are you ok?”

Jason nodded.

“…What does it say?”

Jason held the letter close to his chest, “I’d rather not but… but I think I will stay tonight.”

Dick brightened. He was still curious, but he won’t push it; not with his little brother, his Little Wing, finally coming home. He doesn’t want to push him away. He never wants to risk turning his brother away.

“Ok,” Dick stood, reaching his hand out for the wayward boy, “Let’s go home.”

Jason took his hand, and together they mounted the steps to the manor.

Jason’s finally going home.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted a jason going home and supportive Batfam, so I wrote it.  
> Hope you all liked it!


End file.
